Sparkle
by Dreamthreader
Summary: Ch.2:Sometimes she caught herself wondering the impossible things, the things that should have been possible.
1. Sparkle

'Ello 'ello and welcome to my first FMA fic. It's nothing but a pointless sort of one-shot created after hearing the _Brothers_ _Song_ for the first time last night, but I like how it turned out, nonetheless. I'm thinking about making this a series of one-shots, since that's all I can think up when it comes to the FMA world. There's not much else to say 'cept that there is a bit of a spoiler in here, if you haven't seen the movie, but nothing major, I think. Reviews would greatly be appreciated for my pathetic self-esteem, especially creative criticism since I don't have a beta.

Title: Sparkle

Pairings: None

Genre: A bit of angst, gen. and brotherly fluff.

SPOILERS: A little, but nothing major.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the very pointless plot. I just like to play in the FMA world once in a while.

Summary: 'He could practically hear Alphonse scolding him for thinking such thoughts in his 'I'm-worried-but-for-the-thousandth-time-brother-its-not-your-fault!' voice.'

Edward grunted as he settled down upon the soft grass, flesh hand going immediately to his right shoulder, where wood was stiffly attached to the port. Even on beautiful days such as this, with blue skies that seemed to replenish the meek world of its color, he ached. These jerky pieces of wood that called themselves limbs were most definitely not automail.

He snorted, never thinking there would be a day where he would actually _miss_ automail. 'Winry'd get a hoot out of that one.'

He shook his head. Days like today were rare. Ones where he could look at the sky and for a moment believe the world wasn't as torn as it truly was and that brothers were shedding each others blood somewhere far beyond where he sat, but much too close for comfort.

Today, now, he would enjoy what little peace he could before rushing back to his studies and the gut-wrenching pain of homesickness.

He ignored the aches in his shoulder and leg, which were more a dull stabbing sensation that occurred every few seconds, and reclined back to rest on his elbows and watch the gentle stream babble on its way.

After taking a deep breath and filling his lungs with air until near bursting, he sighed and smiled a little, thinking how much cleaner the air was here, compared to the city and how much it reminded him of Risenbool. A wave of nostalgia washed over him, but the smile remained. The sensation was nothing but a caress now, compared to before. He was content, or at least as content as one can be when their home was literally a world a way with, seemingly, no path back to it and all he loved.

Edward face palmed (With the left hand. The right one couldn't perform such fantastical feats). "Dammit! I'm doing it again." He murmured. "I'm supposed to be 'relaxing'." It felt good to make fun of his dead-beat dad and he allowed that happy emotion to beat any feelings of guilt to the reminiscence of nothing.

"Ah Hell," He flopped back down onto the grass, vaguely wondering when he had sat up and threw his flesh arm over his eyes, a scowl now marring his features. "I can't relax now. When I see Al, then I will." Ed nodded to himself, but made no move to rise.

He remained laying there for sometime, fading in and out of consciousness beneath the shade of a tall and wise-looking tree. Eventually, though, he sat up and shed his coat, as it was suddenly humid. The stark, brown cloth was dropped unceremoniously to his left. Instead of stretching out once more, Ed shuffled down the hardly noticeable slope until he came to the streams edge and dipped his hand just beneath the surface. He kept going until he touched the bottom; by then the surface only came up to his elbow, if that.

The stream was tender through and through. No underlying currents snagged at his arm as he shifted through the rock bed. It didn't slap against him to eagerly continue on its way, only lapped kindly, like a friendly hello or a loving embrace, before sliding lazily on to who-knows-where.

This, oddly enough, brought a pang of the homesickness he was hiding from to make itself comfy in his chest. Ed's flaxen colored eyes soften as he thought of his little brother. Alphonse had to be made up of nothing but smiles and hope and kindness and all of the good things most people lack, Edward included. He, of course, had a flaring sort of temper to him that swelled like a river during stormy times, but Al was too kind-hearted to be exactly like his older brother and could never hold a grudge for long. For that Edward was extremely thankful.

He didn't know what he would have done if Al hadn't forgiven him and stuck with him like he had, even when Ed knew he didn't deserve it. He was selfish like that, only remembering the suffering he endured in silence for four years with that one soul-breaking question weighing on his mind. Had Al said yes, that he did hate and despise his older brother for everything he had done; Edward would most assuredly have died.

His fingers clasped a small, grey and blue dapple rock nearly buried by all the others and brought it up for him to scrutinize, realizing almost immediately of how similar the colors were to his brothers eyes. It seemed everything was doing its best to remind him of what he didn't have. Sighing, with a hint of bitterness at the tail end, the stone plunked back into the stream and sunk slowly down to the bottom. His hand followed until it was just breaching the surface, cupping the placid water currents that implied his own brother's benevolent character and the burdens he had forced on to him.

"My brother, I was a fool."

He could practically hear Alphonse scolding him for thinking such thoughts in his 'I'm-worried-but-for-the-thousandth-time-brother-its-not-your-fault!' voice.

The sudden blast icy wind brought him to a shuddering halt in his thoughts and turned to the sky. Rather ominous looking clouds were bearing down on him, choking the lovely day and his surroundings of their beauty and returning them to their former bleakness.

Edward sighed. The weather change was not unexpected, simply loathed. He withdrew his arm from the slightly colder water and while stumbling up and over to where his coat lay, he wiped the droplets still clinging to his arm on his pants and made his way back to the library.


	2. Tolls of Innocence

Disclaimer: If I came up with this ingenious idea of FMA, do you think I would be writing fanfiction?

Title: Tolls of Innocence

Summary: _Sometimes she caught herself wondering the impossible things, the things that should have been possible._

My Excuse: Some pointless dribble-bunny that nearly bit my ankle off. It ends way too quickly to me, so I can understand if you absolutely loathe this piece, but, all the same, READ!!! And _maybe_ even a teensy-weensy review, please? 

Ch 2: Tolls of Innocence

Since before she knew them – the period was very nearly nonexistent as it was - the terrain had always been the same. A few more farms have popped up; nothing more than small specks dotting the outskirts of her vision.

But never before has the open land ever felt so empty.

Before, it was always comforting, hearing nothing but silence and Den's barks and their own laughter echo in her home towns vastness. All of it would ring pleasantly, like a soft tinkle of a bell hanging from a porch during an April drizzle. She remembered, oh yes, she remembered; those innocent times of scraped knees and ventures through the forest on the perfect summer days. She reasoned that the memories were all the more potent and delicate because they were all that she had left. At times, she would hug herself as though the thoughts were tangible objects.

Sometimes she would ponder the impossible things, the things that should have been possible. _Wonder when they'll pop up again . . . if Ed'll like this new design . . . spaghetti again? . . ._

A smile would creep on to her unknowing features, eyes intent and focused on the screw she was tightening.

_The sweetness before the tang of bitterness_

_The quiet before the storm_

Then, her hands would begin to waver. Reality would hit her – she imagined it was similar to when she clocked Ed with her wrench – and she would drop her screwdriver to try and stave off the tears that would begin their now familiar descent to her quavering lips and moisten the silent sobs slipping through them.

Regrets would twist her stomach again while _Sorrow _worked open the hidden wound to let flow the gush of anguish and pain once more. The memories would come in quick, almost incomprehensible flashes of vibrant colors and the sounds would make her completely deaf of the world, of the present and forcefully drag her back to the happier days that seemed to mock her.

She took solace in visiting the only existing Elric left, Trisha Elric. The brother's deceased mother was a patient audience who listened no matter when she appeared at the edge of her grave. Mostly she spoke of her day and the simple events that had filled it, of how Pinako was getting on in the years and Den's new prosthetic she was designing or how she _"…found that doll, the one Ed and Al made for my birthday, remember?"_.

And from there she never strayed. She never brought up the subjects that silently tore at her heart. Because she knew, knew that if she did voice the outlandish, preposterous, impossible questions boiling in her mind, she would never stop crying and she was tired of crying. She was tired of wondering, pondering over dreams that would never be.


End file.
